Firemind
by Shadow.of.memory
Summary: Chloe was abandoned at St Thomas's Orphanage at the age of 13, after her parents were killed yet she survived. Since, she has not aged and has phsyic powers. Someone had better help her before she loses control...PLS READ! :


1

**Hey readers!**

**This is a Fan Fic using ideas from the Immortals series, and my first proper fanfic…please read and review, and (if you like) give ideas for the next chappie!**

**Love,**

**Shadows of Memory xx ;)**

_My shallow breath came in gasping pants as I pushed against the door with all my strength. However much I struggled and heaved, it tauntingly carried on opening. My Now the crack was big enough to catch a glimpse of two sets of terrible red eyes, and this new found reason for fear brought on a surge of adrenaline, enabling me to gain a few centimetres of space. But it was a lost cause. No matter how much I pushed and struggled, they kept on coming – a steady stream of strength without pause or exhaustion. 'Please!' I begged, sweat and tears of despair mingling, blurring my vision…or was that me beginning to lose consciousness? There was no reply to my plea. In fact the…things…behind the door seemed only to push harder, increasing the gap between the door and frame even quicker. 'I'm sorry,' I whisper to the bloodied wreck on the floor that was my mother. Her pale face lifted up off the floor, crimson red smears of her own blood distorting her face._

'_Run, Chloe, run!' _

_The door finally gave way. And everything went black._

I sat up panting and gasping, my pyjamas sticking to me like a second skin. Sweat poured from every pore available, matting my short hair into a greasy tangle. It took a couple of minutes for me to realise that I was safe in my bed – even though that bed was riddled with lice and protruding springs, it was safer than that room when my life was turned upside down, regurgitated, spat on and trod into the dirt. When my heart beat had finally returned to almost normal, I slid out of bed, my knees feeling weak and wobbly, as though I had just got off a boat after a rough day at sea. The room seemed to sway around me as I stumbled out into the corridor. I needed a drink of water to cool me down and freshen me up, as the sweat had cooled on my skin, leaving a horribly clammy feeling. I steadied my breathing and hobbled down through the darkness until I reached the familiar door of the communal bathroom. I reached my cubical, retrieved my grubby flannel and began mopping off my damp skin.

'What you doing up so late, weirdo?' came a snide voice from the window sill, accompanied by two or three smirks and sneers from the voice's companions. I cursed myself for not checking the bathroom before recovering from my vivid nightmare. I ignored it, and carried on the process although my arms were trembling.

'Wet the bed again, Doofus?' came another casually spiteful remark, this time followed by chuckles and titters. My fingers fumbled for a plastic cup and the tap.

'It's rude to disrespect your elders, or did your mummy never tell you that?' They only whispered this last sentence, as the voice was coming from directly behind me. I froze, cup of water in hand. Panic hopped up and down in my chest in time to my erratically thumping heart.

'You. Are. A. Freak,' she spelt it out for me, flecks of spit hitting the back of my neck. But the infuriating fact is that _she was right._ I was a freak, and I knew it. I could see into people's minds at will, and when I touched a book the information came flying out at me, without even needing to lift the front cover. I could sense people's moods from the coloured aura surrounding them. I could tell the future and the past of anyone just by brushing against them. The constant whispering noise of people's thoughts drilled into my brain. It's enough to make a girl mad. And maybe that's what I was – _mad._ A psychopathic lunatic, who seemingly hasn't aged a day since she first set foot in St Thomas's Orphanage two years ago. That's certainly what Nicole thought as I scanned through her thoughts to see what torture she had in store for me tonight. But surprisingly, she was not intending for her and her minions to cause me any harm tonight. She was tired and…and…was there a hint of fear along with my image in her mind? Of course, no one knew that I was able to hear everything they thought as though they were speaking it out loud, or able to see their life story in one touch, but from looking at other people's impressions of me, I guess I was a little intimidating.

I turned around to face Nicole, who was glaring at me as though she was trying to incinerate me with a look. Her aura was a mixed green and red, which I guessed was anger and…jealousy? I was confused, as I had no idea why Nicole, the dictator of the orphans could possibly be jealous of _me,_ the outcast, the reject and the freak. Curious, I delved deep into her thoughts to try and find out why. Images of her childhood popped up around me. The younger Nicole was much less foreboding than this one, and when she smiled she looked genuinely friendly and well-meaning. Images of her swinging on a swing, laughing with her siblings and tearing round the garden on her new tricycle flashed past. But that wasn't what I was looking for. Then a scene slowly sprung up, tainted with anger, sadness and a deeply hollow grief. The images were blurred as though the holder wanted to forget it. I refused to look any longer – the flash of a dagger and the red of blood were too unmistakeable for me to realise that this was when Nicole's parents were killed. I withdrew from her head, eager to rid myself of the horrible screams emitting from the memory. Although I hadn't found out the source of her envy, I was hardly jumping up and down to get back in there. Instead I'd stick to the surface thoughts.

'Stop staring at me like that, freak. Stalker, much,' she muttered, looking away and sneering, but she was clearly unsettled by my intensity. My blue eyes tend to have that effect on people – maybe that's why I've never been adopted. 'Let's go, guys,' suggested Nicole slightly nervously, beckoning for her friends to follow her out of the gloomy – and not at all pleasant smelling – bathroom and back to bed. The others slunk off after her, leaving behind the glowing cigarette butts they'd been smoking on the window sill. They were clearly annoyed that Nicole had denied them a chance of fun tormenting me, but still obediently followed her out. Because if you weren't a member of a group at St Thomas's, then your life wouldn't be worth living. And a group isn't a group without a leader.

After checking they had well and truly gone to bed, I scurried back to my shared room, careful not to wake Sasha, my roommate. I quickly checked that all her thoughts were slowed and calmed by sleep before climbing into my bed – a motion that was always accompanied by a symphony of creaks and squeaks. Again, I double checked to see if I'd woken her or not and only relaxed when I saw that she was quite peacefully dreaming of the day when Mr and Mrs Perfect would come and rescue her from St Thomas's. A twinge of sadness plucked my heart as I shared her mind - Sasha was my only friend in the world, and something told me that she would be out of here long before I would.


End file.
